A Miscellany of Drabbles
by Shyaway
Summary: Pirates of the Caribbean drabbles.
1. Blood and Gold

This is a collection of my drabbles, most of which were written in response to challenges at The Black Pearl Sails Yahoo group. Reviews would be very much appreciated!

Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean and its characters are owned by Disney. I use them without permission, but with much love and respect.

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**Blood and Gold**

_Gold filigree laid into the handle_.

The order had been vague. Governor Swann had specified only that it should be the finest sword ever seen in Port Royal. Will did not doubt that he could fulfil the request.

Working with gold reminded him of the gift his father had sent him long ago, the medallion lost the day he met Elizabeth. A fair exchange, he thought; gold for a jewel.

Elizabeth.

Will's hand slipped; he cursed as blood flowed. Norrington would take possession of her just as he would own the fruits of Will's handiwork.

Blood dripped and soured the gold.


	2. Misplaced

Disclaimer: see first drabble.

* * *

**Misplaced**

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**

"What did they do with him, love? Where in your boundless embrace did they stow him?"

"Jack?"

"... Bill?"

"Jack - it's me."

"Of course it is. I knew it was. That's why I said Will."

"But you called me ..."

"Come on boy, get to those sails if you want to reach Tortuga before dark."

"You were just leaning over the side muttering to yourself. You do it."

"Now, Will, must we go through this again? I give the orders. You follow them. Savvy?"

"Who were you talking to?"

"The sea. I was asking her to give us a push."

"Really."

"Really."


	3. Nine

For the 'tattoos' challenge, with reference to Orlando's LOTR tattoo and its accidental appearance in POTC...

Disclaimer: see first drabble.

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**Nine  
**

"Have you never been tempted?" Jack asked, eyes glinting.

"No," Will said firmly.

"What about Elizabeth's name? You could have it done all fancy, with -

"No," Will repeated. "I've never understood why anyone would wish to mark their body in that way."

"They're illustrations of episodes in the most thrilling tale of piratical adventure on the high seas ever told. You are one of the dramatis personae by virtue of the fact that you know me -"

"I played rather a large part in one significant episode of that story. Whatever you say, Jack, I don't want a tattoo."

"What's that on your wrist?"

They both looked at the strange symbol adorning Will's arm.

He covered it hastily.


	4. Home Is

Disclaimer: see first drabble.

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Home Is

It was over. All the waiting and planning of the ten years past had paid off, brought to fruition by his own brilliant self. Captain Jack Sparrow had been reunited with the Black Pearl.

The crew - his new, trustworthy crew, not like those accursed mutineers - had all scrambled to follow his orders. Every so often he noticed one or another of them casting an amused sidelong look at him as he hummed and manipulated the wheel almost with caresses. He didn't care. He had his dark lady back. All was well with the world.

Eventually night fell and Marty called to him to join them in breaking open some celebratory casks of rum. Jack stepped away from the helm, but did not want to leave it completely unattended by him just yet.

What was that saying about where home was?

Jack removed his hat and hung it on one of the wheel's handles.  
Tilting his head and pursing his lips, he admired his handiwork. It was as good a symbol as any of his possession of the ship. One of the best, in fact. That hat had been with him throughout his decade-long search for the Pearl.

He walked away to join his crew and smiled broadly as they held their tankards up to toast him. Captain Sparrow had his crew and his ship back.


	5. Truth

Disclaimer: see first drabble.

* * *

Truth

Norrington had known the truth long before Elizabeth looked at him with those wide doe eyes and said she couldn't marry him.

He had known when she pleaded for Jack Sparrow's life. He had known when, disembarking from the Dauntless, she took her father's arm instead of his. He had known even when she accepted his marriage proposal. She loved the blacksmith. Norrington knew that, and still he hoped that she could learn to love him instead. He thought she would try.

But when she went to Turner's side, Norrington saw the unvarnished truth in her eyes, and hope died.


	6. B is for Bootstrap

Disclaimer: see first drabble.

* * *

_B (is for Bootstrap)_

Best friends shouldn't be left to die. Bill's being clawed by that thought. Blood shot out by one bullet runs down before his mind's eye; he can barely keep hoping it isn't reality for Jack. Beaten round the deck, Jack was, by those unforgivable treacherous mutineers. Bruises and blood and Bill can't forgive himself, either.

Bearing them on towards Isla de Muerta, the wind shrieks in the Black Pearl's sails like a banshee, and Bill knows now he should have heeded that sound. Banshees warn of coming death; it's already claimed Jack, and Bill knows it awaits them all on Isla de Muerta, he can feel it in his bones ...


	7. Variation on a Theme

Disclaimer: see first drabble.

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_Variation on a Theme_

Death has filled Bill's mind ever since they sailed away and left Jack on that island. Filled it and covered it and spilled out of it.  
He can't see it but he knows it's running all over the deck; not clear and gliding like water, but sticky like blook. He's drowning in it.

Is Jack dead yet?

No, not yet. Bill knows Jack, knows he'll keep hoping for a while longer. He won't have made the choice yet.

Do it, Jack. Get it over with.

No, no, if there is such a place as hell, then that is one sure way to get to it. Keep hoping, Jack. Someone might come along, and even if ... they don't, you'll be at peace afterwards. You're a good man ...

But how long does it take for a man to die of thirst? How much does it hurt? How long does it take to despair?

Barbossa asks himself the same question, and smiles.


	8. Gift

Disclaimer: see first drabble. 

This, obviously, was written at Christmas-time. It was for the 'gift' challenge.

* * *

Look what I got you, darling!

The occasion? It's Christmas. I know that doesn't mean much to you and maybe it doesn't mean so much to me, either, but it's the time for gift-giving.

No, _of course_ I'm not trying to make something up to you. A gentleman can give a lady a present without such base motives.

Well, I am a gentleman sometimes. Anyway, I haven't done anything you wouldn't like. Honest.

Really, you are the most _suspicious_ - ! Just because I want to give you a new coat of paint, Pearl, doesn't mean I've been seeing other ships!


	9. Bad weather

Disclaimer: see first drabble.

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Fog clings to them. They are already far enough from grace, damned as they are to be between life and death, neither man nor corpse; it seems a worse injury that so often they should be denied the sunlight as well; and a bitterer injustice still that the light they are given in abundance, the pale moonlight, is the one they hate most. When the moon's white shine is uncovered and she in turn exposes them to their punishment, they wish most wretchedly for the fog's stifling cover,  
for it is a protection, that grants them their disguise of flesh. 


	10. Near Miss

Disclaimer: see first drabble.

Regarding the title change - I simply decided I preferred this title. Sorry for any inconvenience.

* * *

He hadn't expected her to come to find him. He'd become accustomed to the search being a solitary unhelped one. So the surprise was absolute when, locked in a Port Royal cell, he heard her voice:  
cannons bellowing, vociferating, calling him. A wave-rush of joy;  
she'd come to set him free!

He watched through the bars and waited. The Black Pearl sent her shot through the wrong wall. The other prisoners scampered away. Jack was left behind. The tantalising chance of reunion was lost; the lonely search would be prolonged.

_You need to work on your aim, my darling._


	11. Last Time

Disclaimer: see first drabble.

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Last Time

"I told him," Barbossa growled to Ragetti as the crew fled from the consequences of yet another of Jack's hare-brained schemes. "We should have attacked at once. Negotiations be damned."

They reached the longboats. "Captain Sparrow's got a soft heart"  
Ragetti said, pushing one of the boats out to sea.

"Sparrow's got a soft head. That's the last time I ..." He trailed off. Bootstrap had paused in his launching of the neighbouring boat to give Barbossa a hostile glare.

"Last time you what, sir?" Ragetti prompted.

_...take orders from him,_ Barbossa finished mentally. Bootstrap was still watching him.


	12. The Fall

Disclaimer: see first drabble.

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The Fall

Apples. Round, green, a whole garden in one small sphere. Barbossa keeps them with him as a beacon of hope. Green for life, never red for blood.

Shedding the blood of these two will be a pleasure. Young Turner will have a different manner of end to his father, and Jack - serpent in the grass after all - he'll have to bleed since he was prey to the pull of the gold, and after that they'll spill the rest of it at their leisure.

He thinks of that until that one shot presses out his own blood -

and then, the fall.


	13. Beau Nasty and the Bulky Whore

For the 'insults' challenge. I've been reading _A Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue_, which contains some gems of colourful eighteenth-century slang. So I give you:

Beau Nasty (n. A slovenly fop; one finely dressed, but dirty.) & Whore of the Bulk (n. One who makes use of any available base.)

* * *

"Give us a kiss, Giselle love..."

"Are you going to pay me this time?"

"Payment on results."

"No, you'll tell me to 'look over there!' and run off."

"I solemnly swear I'll never deceive you in such a foul and cunning manner again."

"Mmmm... Not out here, it's too muddy."

"Pay it no mind..."

"Jack, you're getting me dress mucky!"

"Just like the rest of you, darling."

"Well, me dress was clean last week, so give over. You can pay for a room at the Bride, an' some water too, I reckon you've got more tar on you than the ship 'as."

"A _room_? I thought you were a whore of the bulk."

"Oh, did you? Then find some cheaper company, you skinflint beau-nasty!"

"Ow! Dammit, woman - wait! Giselle! Oh, no. Well. Her misfortune. I am far more _beau_ than _nasty_."


	14. Familiarity

"Sparrow - where are we going?" 

Jack tilted the Interceptor's wheel. He could feel young Turner's suspicious gimlet eyes boring into his back, but he didn't look round. "That's no way to address the man in command of your ship."

"What?" Still more suspiciously.

Then Jack did turn around. "It's _Captain_ Sparrow. I'm in charge of this here vessel, so you call me captain, savvy? Captain. Say it."

The boy's mouth went through some fascinating contortions, but he couldn't bring himself to pronounce the word. Couldn't bear to dignify a pirate with the title. Interesting. If only he knew what William Turner senior would have made of that.

"Try 'Jack'," he suggested, to his own surprise. He had meant to insist on his titular rights.

The lad nodded. "Jack. Right."

He did look like his father. When he spoke Jack's name he sounded like him too. It was good to have a Turner around again. Jack hoped he would come through this adventure unharmed.


	15. Sacrificing Blood and Taffeta

The dress was purple, imperial purple, rich and decadent like the lavish feast set out for the maid's enjoyment. She wore it awkwardly, the low shoulders an antique fashion to her. Barbossa could remember ladies wearing dresses like that in years gone by, in his childhood when smell and taste and touch were still fresh. 

She stared at him as they sat down to the banquet, half-fearful, half-defiant, with big brown eyes like Bill Turner's. Bill's eyes would be nibbled out by fishes by now and his flesh rotting chalk-white. Blood coursed through her veins - Barbossa could see those veins, could hear the blood - flowed in rivers of life and hope. His life. His hope.

The girl had not yet tasted the feast. He looked her over again before instructing her to begin. She was ripe. Fit to be offered to the gods.


	16. Blood Money

Eight hundred and eighty-two identical gold pieces they minted with painstaking care, each coin created to be a drop of rain on the fires of destruction lit by Cortés, fashioned out of the metal that for the white man shone brighter than the sun.

But the reconciliatory gold was never pure; not yet cursed, nor was it blessed, for it was sent forth bearing the death's-head. An invocation to the gods who watched over the invaded lands, and a warning to those mortals that might cross them: those skulls that were sightless, lifeless - senseless. 


	17. How Jack Sparrow Got His Teeth

It wasn't his fault. That purse had been sitting all unattended and lonely-like on the inn's bar and he'd thought no one wanted it. He'd meant only to do the proprietor a service by taking it out of his way. So he'd said to the innkeeper and the article's owner when he found his wrists in their irate clutches, anyway. The purse had been unaccompanied but not unwatched, and its owner, having no time for dark skinny youths making violent protestations of innocence, flung the pilferer out onto the street with a hefty (overly so, in its victim's opinion) clout to the mouth.

Jack got up, spitting blood and teeth. He fished around in the mud for the lost incisors until an approaching carriage forced him to retreat to the edge of the road. It took him not even a moment's deliberation to decide where to go next; he made his way around the inn to its stables, where a low roof, a handy barrel and some easily-grasped thatched straw granted him access to their summit - which by a happy stroke of fate was overlooked by the upper windows of the inn. He edged his way along the roof, steadied by a hand against the inn wall, peering into through the windows as he went. At the fourth, he struck gold: there, draped across the bed, was the coat that his assailant had been wearing earlier on his arrival at the inn. (Jack watched the wealthier patrons of this establishment sometimes, for entirely innocent reasons _of course_; he just liked looking at their pretty clothes and had no ulterior motives whatsoever.) He examined the casement, wiggled a pane of glass loose, slipped his arm through, opened the window, and was inside in a trice.

A search of the chamber yielded - oh - greater riches than would have been found in a measly purse. A couple of gold signet rings, which he turned over and over in his palm; ugly things in themselves, but - Jack thought, probing at the raw gaps in his mouth - he could find them a nice, devastatingly attractive home.


	18. Come What May

(Please note the rating change - this is because of the strong language in this drabble.)

* * *

Reunion was a beautiful word. Jack, feeling his lady's dark wood and breathing the salt air, thinks he'll add it to his favourites, like _rum_ and _Pearl_ and _fucking_ and _freedom._ The wheel nudges his wandering hand, telling him - again, blissfully again - that it finds favour with the Black Pearl too. She's been prancing with joy all day, ever since he fell into her arms from that other, lethal, contraption of wood and rope, the gallows. 

Together, that was another lovely one. Captain Jack Sparrow and his Pearl, together again. Him and ship and sea and sky - and he must have been standing here a long time, for the horizon is blazing amber and the sun ahead of them is descending towards the waves.

Jack asks the Pearl to hurry. They might be in time to see the sun sinking into her home in the depths. And as he urges his ship onwards and listens to her melody of wake and sails and creaking timbers, he thinks that whatever turns his story may take tomorrow, this moment - glorious, delirious perfection - would last forever.


	19. Tempest's Child

Taking my cue from the Visual Guide - this _could_ be a spoiler for Jack's backstory in the sequels. I'm not sure. If so it's very minor.

* * *

Born on a pirate ship in a typhoon, Jack says he was, when his crew are quailing and he wants them to sail on through the storm. Born of such tempestuous waters as he was, how could they ever do him or his harm?

When his hearer is a lady with skirts to be lifted, he'll claim descent from a peer of the realm. Which lord it is who has the honour of being his father changes with the seasons; the candidates all share the qualities of wealth, roguishness and great charm.

Sometimes, when he is in his cups and he can find someone minded to listen, he declares that he is the son of Poseidon himself. Even Gibbs gives no credence to that one.

Then there was the time he made reference to an early memory of the slums of Saint Giles, in London. Only Anamaria heard it; he looked sheepish, glanced around to see if any had taken note; and loudly ordered more rum.


	20. Treasure

For such a short journey, the route between Tortuga and Isla de Muerta had been eventful. Many of the Pearl's crew were nursing cuts and bruises, wounds they'd sustained during the struggle with their now-former captain, who yesterday had been safely installed as the governor of his own island. Good riddance, the men clamoured, those of them who had not fought so eagerly during the regime change shouting loudest, with an eye on Barbossa as they did so.

That could be forgotten now. They had made it to the island, they had found their way through the caves, there was the promised stone chest; and if it were ominously like a sacrificial altar, no matter. They were not children to be frighted so.

Only one of their company hung back. The bo'sun noticed and shoved him forwards to Barbossa.

"Come on, Turner," the captain said to him, "you're spoilin' it for the rest of us with your sulks. Take your share."

Bootstrap looked into the chest, at the gold that had enticed them here, and had no appetite for it. All he said was, "He could still be alive."

Barbossa shrugged and out of habit bit down on one of the coins. "I hope not."

For a second time Bootstrap looked at the treasure of Cortez, the treasure that was theirs now, at the grinning, mocking skull the coins bore (iwas that what Jack's face looked like now/i); he saw in its gleam the flames of war, heard in its chink the clang of steel. From far off Barbossa's voice told him again to take his rewad; and he took one of them, took one of those coins.

It was his due.


	21. Tall Tales

"So ye are part of the crew of the notorious Black Pearl now. There be your duties. Anythin' else ye be wanting to know? "

"When do we see the captain?" one of the recruits piped up. They had encountered him only briefly when earlier that day he had inspected the new arrivals.

Gibbs nodded. "Aye, you are here because you want to go pirating with Captain Jack Sparrow, feared and renowned as he is throughout the seven seas. Him and this fine ship, scourge of the ocean wave. No doubt ye have heard of his miraculous escape from the gallows of Fort Charles, and how we his trusty crew plucked him from the water with the cannon fire of the Royal Navy raining down upon -"

Jack emerged from his cabin. His appearance bore out Gibbs' description: the weaponry, the swagger, the hat at a dashing angle, and to complete the picture, the rum-bottle in hand. He seemed to be speaking to someone in the rigging. The recruits stood to attention and strained to catch his voice, until he came close enough for them to hear what he was saying.

"I love you, girl. Pearl. Pearl-girl. I love you more than -" He swayed, considering. "More than rum!" he decided after taking another swig, and raised the bottle to her in tribute.

He caught sight of the new crewmembers. He gave them a sort of half-wave with his free hand, then began an unsteady ascent to the helm.

The recruits looked to Gibbs.

"Arr, don't worry about him. That be normal. Now, I was saying, the Navy was firing on us, Jack was swimming through the sharks of Port Royal harbour, and we hadn't a drop of rum on board..." 


	22. Someone Left the Cake Out in the Rain

Warning - spoilers for DMC!

* * *

"Look at that," Estrella said, peering out into the rain from the chapel entrance. "Ten pounds her shoes cost, and they'll be ruined. Them and the dress if she sits out there much longer."

Ruth, her fellow lady's maid, sniffed and plucked at the sleeves of her own best dress. "After all our hard work, too. That gown was a wretch to pin into place - oh, here's the groom."

They watched Will Turner arrive in chains, and Lord Beckett arrest the bride.

"Well," Ruth said when the soldiers had left with the prisoners, followed by an indignant governor, "I've never seen a wedding like that before."

The other guests began to disperse, all chattering excitedly.

"P'raps we should help clear up," Estrella suggested. The kitchen servants were already moving the china.

"Might as well."

They joined Polly the kitchenmaid in carrying trays and flowers to shelter. "Put them over there," Polly said, "next to the cake. We brought that in when the rain started."

The three of them stood and looked at the four-tier confection.

"It does seem a shame," Estrella mused. "We shouldn't let it go to waste."

"It won't go to waste," Polly objected. "Fruit cake keeps."

Ruth shook her head. "Not for ever. It could be a long time before Miss Swann and Mr Turner have their wedding again. And what if they're executed?"

"Just the top layer," Estrella suggested.

"You're supposed to save that for the christening."

"There won't be no christening, will there?" Ruth argued. "Not without the wedding."

"Well..."

Estrella picked up three plates. "It'd be no use sitting in the pantry. The rats would get it."

"Oh, all right," Polly said. "I love fruit cake. Where's a knife?"

"Here -"

"Mmmm!"

"Yummy."

"My hands are all sticky..."


	23. First Kiss

Jack had been tumbling her some months by the time they first kissed.

He had put his mouth to uses new even to her, and she had had every member of his body in her own mouth except his tongue; but Giselle, like many a lady of her old old profession, held that a kiss was one intimacy that could not be bough, no matter how many of the other women of her trade scorned it as foolish, romantic prudery. Some men, too, thought they should have her kiss as well as her cunny. She'd taken (and dished out) black eyes in that argument.

Jack was unruffled by her refusal. The first time, when she'd turned her face away and told him no, that wasn't for sale, he'd simply smiled and said, "Maybe later, eh?" and pressed his lips to her neck instead. He'd tried once or twice since, but never aggressively.

Now, after time away pirating on the high seas, he was back in her room, where she had lit her precious, expensive candles. She rested her knee on the bed before her while he industriously unlaced her dress.

He paused, and twisted one of her blonde ringlets around his fingers, then traced down her spine to touch the small of her back, and ran his hand over her hip. With the other he caressed her bared shoulder. She turned to look back at him and, smoothly, fluidly, he darted his head forward to cover her lips with his. Soft, warm, moustached -

Her first instinct was to kick him in the balls. He knew damned well she didn't do this.

Her second reaction was to breathe in deep the scent of oranges - he used orange oil on his hair, she knew this because sometimes she applied it for him, and when they lay together his locks brushed over her shoulders and breasts - and she started to relax.

Jack untied the knot fully, loosening her stays. With one taut arm he circled her waist; the other gri,y hands trailed down into her bodice. She sagged back against his chest.

Her third reaction was to kiss him back.


	24. Respite

The first night after Captain Jack Sparrow got his Pearl back, he stayed at the helm all night long. Turning the wheel, rocking it, stroking it, caressing it. It had been a long, long time since he'd felt this. In the morning his stagger was that of exhaustion and his eyes were heavy, but they shone.

The second night after Captain Jack Sparrow got his Pearl back, he was coaxed into resting. Sleeping in the bed that for ten years had been the property of his traitorous former first mate, he dreamed: flesh rent from bones in the moonlight, Lethean waters closing over his head, a killing lonely heat, and biting, everlasting hunger. The following morning he threw those sheets and blankets overboard. Then he went to the gun deck to find that cannon, the new cannon, the one that was a replacement for - the other - and clean it. As eventide drew in, he reloaded his pistol.

The third night after Captain Jack Sparrow got his Pearl back, he slept better than he had done for a decade. 


	25. Life

Cold. Cold. The freeze he felt was that of starving winters, ice on the pond at home, snow that covered the farmer's orchard. Cold like Christmas, like stone in shadow, like the sweet chill of tropical waters at dawn. Warm? Warmer. 

A voice spoke to him and the words came as if through water; his ears were filled with the rush of his blood and the sound of his breath. Beneath him there was a soft bed and the air around was cinnamon-rich.

His sight cleared; above him he saw a face, a woman's face, a beautiful face. _You hear me now? Dat's good, dat's good_, the voice said in the tones of sultry Jamaican nights, and he was flooded with the long-awaited heat.


	26. Liberty

The longboat pulled away from the swamp, out of the river's mouth, towards the open, perilous sea. In the rustle of the trees Jack heard again Tia Dalma's words - _land is where you are safe_ - and entertained the notion of having them come about and go back upriver. 

Only for a moment, only until he looked out across the ocean again. The sea; home of fish and the Pearl and the Kraken all alike. Water; his own element.

Behind them, the thick forest smothered the island, a constraint upon the horizon. Jack turned his back on the trees and the mountains. Constraints were bonds from which to break free.


	27. The Pursuit of Happiness

Many a man and many a woman had ascended the stair to her abode in the hope that she could work miracles for them. Most wanted love potions, or draughts to bring them wealth. Some wanted poisons. The rare few wanted something extraordinary, and they themselves always bore a special lustre. This black-eyed wanderer was one of them.

"It is as you have heard, I can help you find your heart's desire." She was prepared for his request; from the folds of her dress she took the compass, which she opened, and cast onto the table like dice.

He advanced a step or two to peer at the unfocused needle. "It doesn't point north," he said, his eyes quizzical.

"Is north what you desire most? Pick it up."

He took the compass in his rope-roughened hand and she watched him stare fascinated at the swinging needle. As it found its heading, the glimmerings of a smile, a real smile, not the brittle calculated-to-charm grin he had bestowed upon her when he first arrived, graced his lips. For the first time in years, she knew, he had a link to that which he had lost. 


	28. Crushing

Will had often pitied Norrington in the months since Jack's aborted hanging, even before the commodore had ceased to be the commodore. Elizabeth had rejected him and Will couldn't imagine anything worse than that.

He had never thought to find himself standing in Norrington's shoes.

In the midst of death and destruction wreaked by Davy Jones, and as ever before, Elizabeth had been his promise of life, brave and vivid and his as he was hers. Promises of love and life, promises that – suddenly – were not for him alone. What had passed between her and Jack on the deck of that sinking ship – or ever?

He looked at her, catching her eye for a moment before she quickly averted her face. In just that way she had withdrawn her gaze many times in their childhood; in church, sitting next to Mr Brown when that man still attended, he would watch her ringleted head; sometimes he glanced up from the hymnbook to see her looking back over her shoulder at him, only for her to look forwards at the altar again as soon as their eyes met.

He had never known how to interpret that retreat. No more did he now. 


	29. Courtship

She was new to him. An antique lady blown in on nobody knew which wind, north or south or east or west, smelling of faraway snow and familiar spices, and spearheaded by an angel, ancient as days; to Jack she was yet as fresh as if she were newly plucked from an oyster. She was full of promises. So was he.

Across the seven seas we'll chase the horizon together (forever) and there'll be a crock of gold waiting for us when at the last we find it. What do you say?

The timbers shuddered under his hand.

_Yes._


End file.
